


Catharsis

by Sinstigator



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, But gets better as time goes on, Domestic Violence, Eventual Happy Ending?, F/M, Minor Character Death, Starts out sad, Violence, some smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2018-10-30 12:43:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10877025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinstigator/pseuds/Sinstigator
Summary: Fooling people is what she does. Feigning interest in their stories-their lives, all the while pulling their deepest, darkest secrets from their own lips. Sometimes willingly. Her father had said time and time again that all she did was cost him money... Money they didn't have. Well, the jokes on him, because she found her own way to rake in all the cash she'd ever need. It wouldn't be easy, but that was something Moira was used to by now.





	1. It All Started In The Snow

“Oh look! It’s snowing again!” The rays from the street lamps illuminate the woman’s face as she peered out of the car window. Dark eyes sparkling as she craned her neck to get a better view of the white specks falling from the darkened sky only to join the white powder already on the ground. She sighed, turning the bundle settled in her arms towards the window. “Look at that, Moira. Amazing, isn’t it, seeing snow for the first time? Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Vi, she’s barely two days old! I doubt that she can even see the snow, let alone appreciate it's beauty.” The man behind the wheel smirks, glancing at the wiggling bundle in his wife’s arms. It was still such a shock to him, accepting the fact that he was a father now. That after years of expensive fertilization produces, false hopes, and disappointment, the thing they’d been trying so hard for was finally real.

They finally had a child of their very own. A daughter. He actually had a daughter!

She gurgled, swaddled body wriggling within the yellow blanket. Her eyes were dark, just like her mother’s. Half lidded and partially obscured by baby fat. As far as Jaxson was concerned, Moira was a younger carbon copy of her mother. Soft and warm. She’d even been born with a full head of hair. 

Violet insisted that the baby had inherited his temperament, but he couldn't see it. 

He could still feel the rush of love that had overtaken him in the hospital when the nurses had first placed her in his arms. Still wailing with flecks of blood in her hair. He knew babies were small, but he hadn’t expected her to be so...tiny. She was barely as long as his forearm.

It was almost enough for him to forgive her for deciding to come into the world in the middle of a snowstorm. Almost.

Jaxson grit his teeth as the car lurched through yet another pile of snow. It had been snowing for three days straight, and no matter how bright his lights were, or how fast the wipers went, he couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of him. “I swear, this is the worst storm I’ve ever seen…”

His grumbling wasn’t enough to ruin Violet’s good mood, however. If anything, her smile only continued to grow, shifting Moira around. Holding her up so the child could get a good look at Jaxson’s face. “See that man over there- you remember him, right? The one who hates the snow?”

Moira’s face scrunched up into a scowl and she released a less than enthused grunt. Violet smirks as the car eases to a stop at a red light.

“Looks like she’s on my side~”

Jaxson sighed, running a hand through his hair, pushing the hat from his head. “Don’t listen to her, she’s just trying to turn you against me. Just remember who’s going to let you stay up all night.” His grumbling coaxed a peal of laughter from Violet, and he couldn’t help but join her as the light changed above him.

It took a few tries to get the car moving again, it's momentum lost. But, soon enough they’re cruising down the street once again. Heads filled with possibilities for the future. 

And then the lights flickered. Barely noticeable at first, but it continued, the stretches of darkness growing longer and longer.

“Dammit,” Jaxson growled, fingers tightening on the wheel as it locked up, brake lever stiffening beneath his foot. “Not this again!” He slammed his foot on the brakes with more force than should ever be necessary, but to no avail.

“Jax?” Worry began to leech its way into Violet’s voice, and she quickly returned the child to its car seat near her feet. Eyes darting from her husband to the road and back again. “What’s wrong?”

“Stupid thing’s acting up again!”

Any semblance of calm she'd had was rapidly disappearing, “I thought you got that fixed!”

Jaxson snorted, knuckles turning white around the wheel, “Yeah, so did I-”

Neither one of them had seen the other car coming, their attention on the flickering lights and failing gauges of their own. It’s sudden, the impact jarring the both of them. Jerking them in their seats as the metal groaned and caved beneath the force. Sending the car careening off onto the sidewalk and slam into a nearby street lamp.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * 

It isn’t the screeching of rubber on asphalt that tears Abigail’s attention from digging her car out of a snowbank at 4 am. In the middle of a blizzard. It’s the ominous bang that followed, a crunch so heavy that she could feel it in her gut. The thick plumes of dark smoke staining the sky like a scar.

The strange sight is enough to drown out her husband’s pissed off rambling. At least for the moment.

“....Frank?” Abigail’s voice is small, much like her own stature. The shovel slipping from her fingers and falling into the snow. Her eyes don’t leave the dark trail. “Frank!”

“WHAT?” Frank’s voice sounds like cannon fire in comparison, lurching to his feet, eyes squinted against the harsh winds. Flecks of snow sticking to his beard. “The fuck are you yapping about now?!” You got another bright idea, that’s going to get us stranded somewhere else this time!?”

She flinched, yes, their current predicament was in some way her fault. Having Begged Frank to finally go on some sort of vacation-the first they’d ever gone on. But, how was she supposed to anticipate a surprise blizzard?

Abigail did her best to keep from tensing up, she couldn’t let him get to her right now. She pointed to the smoke instead, “Something’s wrong….There’s smoke coming from a few blocks over.” Slender fingers tugged the edges of her beanie down over her ears as she cast him a glance over her shoulder, “I’m going to go check it out.”

But, Frank wasn’t about to let things go so easily, “You just love sticking your nose into everyone’s business, don’t you?” Grimacing, he turned away from her, “I’m going to dig out the car. Like we’re supposed to be doing!”

Abigail doesn’t reply, just takes off running towards the smoke, slipping and sliding in the white powder. 

Only, suddenly the snow wasn’t so white and pristine anymore. Littered with crimson droplets and scores deep enough to reveal the black asphalt beneath. Even the snow carried on the wind is dyed a nasty gray, and it isn’t hard to find the source of the smoke. The tire tracks leading right up to it like a treasure map. The sleep brown cruiser is almost completely wrapped around a lamp post, smoke billowing out from under the hood.

“Oh no….” A sinking feeling began to take hold of Abigail’s gut. Growing more and more powerful with every step closer. From what she could see, there were two figures slumped over in the front seats, eerily still. The acrid scent of blood hung heavy in the air.

_....They’re dead._

She takes a step forward, trying to convince herself that the two could still be alive. That it might be worth it to check, just in case.

And that’s when she heard it, above the wind and the wails of the approaching sirens. A cry, high and needy coming from the car. But, the sound doesn’t put her at ease, not at all. Quite the opposite in fact. Her heart is in her throat as she lunges toward the car, the smoke stinging her eyes. Blurring her vision as she slides into the hunk of dented metal. 

The cries grow louder, more persistent when Abigail’s face nears the shattered window. The woman on the passenger’s side doesn’t move when Abigail pushes her head back. Shards of glass embedded in her face, and she winces at the image, “ugh….Sorry, but I have to move you.” She doesn’t get a reply, but then again, she wasn’t expecting one.

Reaching in through the window she pops the lock and forces the door open with yet another screech of metal. The woman’s body lists to the side, held in place only by her seatbelt. Blood smears on the headrest behind her.

A flash of yellow catches Abigail’s eye, sticking out from beneath the puffy winter jacket at the woman’s feet. It’s exactly where the cries are coming from.

Only now does she hesitate, filled with uncertainty and doubt. Hand poised over the jacket. Shards of broken glass sparkling from where they lay on the fabric. She knows what she’s going to find beneath the coat, there’s only one thing that could make those sounds. Still, she casts the deceased woman yet another sorrowful glance before gingerly pulling the coat away. The glass tumbles to the ground, glinting. But, all Abigail can see, all she can focus on are the tiny clenched fists and scrunched up face.

There’s a baby, snug in the car seat. Just as she thought there would be. But, seeing it was a whole different story. Some part of her brain had hoped that it wouldn’t be true.

That there wasn’t a child lying just a few feet away from the corpses of their parents. But, there was.

The sirens are drawing ever closer, their wails drowning out the hiss of the wind. But, they were coming too late. The parents were already long gone, only the child is left. Defenseless and alone…

It's a rash decision, not thought out at all, but it forces Abigail into action regardless. Flicking and remaining glass from the jacket with a quick snap of her wrist before scooping the bawling child up and wrapping it in the coat. She slams the door with her foot before taking off down the same road she’d come. Cooing at the child while praying that the snow erases her tracks.

“Ssssshh...It’s ok!” Her smile is strained, panicked even. What the hell was she doing, stealing someone’s child? Even if the parents were already dead. They police would be looking for the body of an infant, and if they saw her footprints….

She should’ve waited for the ambulance, for the paramedics. Given the child to one of them. But, here she was, sprinting back to her car a kidnapper.

The old dusty blue clunker comes into view, finally free of the snow bank it had been stuck in earlier. “Frank!” Abigail slows to a brisk walk as she closes in on the vehicle, dashing around the side to pull on the handle only to find the door locked. “Frank? Open the door!” Her eyes shoot up to meet his through the window, green on brown.

But, he doesn’t move, just stares at her from his seat, and takes another long drag from his cigarette.

The sirens are so loud she swears they’re going to come around the corner any second. Come and take her away for what she’s done. The glass is cold and hard beneath her palm as she pounds on it, “Open the door, Frank! There’s no time for you bullshit!” Frantic, she shifts the bundle closer, trying to shield it from the brunt of the wind. “Stop being an asshole!...You want me to tell the cops how you’ve locked me out of the car-in this weather?”

That does it. The scowl that spreads across his face wasn’t a good sign. It never was, but the click of the door unlocking was well worth the risk she was taking. And Abigail slips inside in a matter of seconds, slamming the door before reaching up to the dash and cranking the heat up.

“The fuck did you do!?” His eyes fall to the jacket and the crimson stains on it. “You idiot! Did you kill someone? Is that why the cops are here?” He jams a finger into her face, lips pulled back in a sneer. “If you think I’m gonna cover for your crazy ass-”

“-S-shut up and drive, idiot! It’s nothing like that!” A cry cuts her off, tearing her attention away from frank. She makes a small sound in the back of her throat, peeling the fabric back once again to peek inside. “There, there...I know you must be cold. Don’t worry.”

The cigarette nearly falls from Frank’s mouth. “Are you fucking serious!? You go to check out some smoke, and snatch a kid?”

“There was a car crash, alright?” She grits her teeth, awkwardly coaxing the child into the crook of her arm. “....The parents were dead anyway.”

“Then you should’ve left it right where it was. Did you actually think it was a good idea to just take the kid?” He sounds unimpressed as he shifts the car into gear, pulling away from the curb. “Shut the thing up at least!.”

Abigail rolls her eyes, mumbling under her breath, “Dick.” She turns her attention back to the baby, tugging the yellow blanket even tighter around the tiny body. A rich purple gash on the blanket catching her attention. Upon closer inspection she finds that they’re letters, painstakingly stitched into the the blanket. 

A name.

“Moira? Is that your name?” The little girl merely hiccuped, eyes still watery and obviously upset. But, she’s not crying anymore. Abigail smiles as she looks her over, the tiny nose and puffy cheeks. “Moira’s a good name...I think it suits you.” Frank mumbles something under his breath, but she shrugs it off. Leaning in close to watch that small frowny face. “Don’t worry, I’m here now. No more crying, alright? There’s nothing to be scared of, now is there?”


	2. Wake Up, You Know What Time It Is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 14 years have passed, and it's the first day of school. High School to be exact

It’s not everyday that Moira wakes up on the floor, the one in the kitchen specifically. But, it happened often enough that she’d grown oddly used to it. The chipped tile no longer cool against her cheek. Broken glass litters the floor, glittering like stardust in the rays of sunlight that filter through the windows.

She blinks, staring at the shards from her place on the floor. She’d have to remember to clean them up before she left. Otherwise, it would never get done.

The actual process of getting up off the floor is what takes the most time. Peeling herself off the ground with trembling limbs that are still half asleep and stiff. Her entire left side aches something terrible, and she doesn’t even have to lift the thin night shirt she’s wearing to know that there are bruises. Skin littered with dark splotches.

Outside she can hear the trash truck as it rumbles down the street, and the neighbor’s dog works itself into a frenzy at the perceived intrusion into it's territory. Just like clockwork.

Every monday morning, at six am, it's the same thing. At least she wasn’t going to be late for the first day of school.

Moira huffs, skirting around the pieces she can see on the tips of her toes. Slowly making her way over to the pantry in the corner. Pulling the door open with one hand and grabbing the broom and dust pan with the other. The glass is easy enough to sweep up, yet she scours the grout between the tiles for stragglers, making sure every shard had been collected. Knowing her luck, she would be the one to step on it while walking around barefoot.

When she’s finally satisfied, her attention turns to her morning routine. Taking the old, creaky steps two at a time as she climbs up to the second floor. Splashes cold water on her face in the bathroom, the shock chasing away any remnants of sleep. Her reflection in the mirror is tired, but that’s no surprise. 

The lack of bruises on her face always is, though. But, then again, frank had always been pretty good about controlling exactly where his blows landed. Not the face, never the face. It was one of the few constant things about the man.

The thought of her father puts a sour note on the day she already wants to end. Gripping her toothbrush with more force than necessary, bristles scraping against her gums until they bleed. And yet, she still can’t manage to get that taste out of her mouth. A mixture of fear and resentment roiling up from her gut. And it pisses her off. The fact that the mere thought of him was enough to ruin her mood. Moira snarls at her reflection in the glass, “Asshole.”

A thump tears her attention away from the mirror, the sound coming from her parents’ room. For a second Moira is frozen, rooted in place by the fear that maybe Frank hadn’t left for work that morning. That he’d decided to take the day off and he knew-somehow he knew what she’d said, and was coming to-

-A groan sends her thoughts skidding to a halt, the sound weak and labored, obviously in pain. The faint scrape of nails scratching against the hardwood is what calms her down. Allowing her to finally release the breath she hadn’t realized what she was holding.

_It’s not him._

She repeats the words in her head like a mantra as if she still needs to convince herself of the truth when she slinks out of the bathroom, making her way down the hall. Her heart is in her throat when the chipped door swings open with the slightest of pushes, releasing a screech that sends goosebumps shooting up her arms. 

It's not Frank that’s sprawled out on the floor, tangled in the sweat-soaked sheets.

It’s her mother.

Abigail cringes, the squeak of the door’s hinges cutting straight through her head, striking hard and fast like a bolt of lightning. Her dirty blonde hair clings to her forehead, the skin sticky with sweat.

Yet another sight Moira has grown used to.

“Are you ok?” She knows she won’t get much out of her, but she asks anyway. Still concerned for her health.

The woman groans at the sound of her voice, grinding the heels of her hands into her temples. “My….head…” Her voice is thick like her tongue has swelled up to twice its size. “Oh god.” 

Moira bites her cheek as she makes her way over, hooking her hands under her mother’s armpits, and half lifts half drags her back onto the bed. She smells of sweat and artificial flowers. The scent of her favorite fabric softener still fresh on her now wrinkled clothes. She’s still wearing the same ones from the night before. Hadn’t even changed before she’d collapsed into bed.

“Sweety.” Abigail’s voice is nothing more than a croak, her slender arm raising just enough to point to the bathroom a few feet away. “Can you get the aspirin for me? It's in the medicine cabinet-top shelf.”

_I know where the aspirin is…_

Why wouldn’t she? She’d had to take those pills herself numerous times. Not to mention the plethora of times she’d been asked to retrieve those pills. She wants to point out that fact, but bites her tongue, knowing that it wouldn’t make much of a difference. Her mother wouldn’t remember that they’d even had this conversation once she’d woken up again.

The plastic bottle is cold against her palm, it contents rattling as it's pulled from the cabinet. Moira unscrews the bottle with ease, dropping a couple into her mouth before taking a swig of water from the faucet. Wiping her mouth on the back of her hand as she turns, exiting the small bathroom and returning to Abigail’s side.

“Here.” Moira jiggles the bottle, voice quiet in the large room. “I have to go, or I’ll be late.”

A quick glance at the clock mounted on the wall supports her statement. Holographic numbers proudly displayed against the stark white walls. Six forty-five. She had fifteen minutes to make it to school, and the walk normally took at least half an hour.

Abigail nods, sucking down the aspirin with a mouthful of lukewarm water from a glass on the nightstand. “Oh, you’re right. You’re right!” She waves her off with one hand, returning the glass to her lips. Drinking down the liquid as if she’d never get the chance to taste it again. “You can’t be late on your first day!” Her smile is too bright, too full of something close to pride.

The sentiment is completely lost on Moira however. She can’t wrap her head around it. What was so special about starting high school anyway? It was just more of the same, wasn’t it?  
But, Abigail’s gaze is expectant, and Moira can feel the muscles in her face twisting into some semblance of a smile. “Yeah….I’ll see you when I get back okay?”

Abigail murmurs something in return, or at least tries to. Her response is barely audible as sleep sinks its claws into her once again. She barely reacts when Moira closes the bedroom door with yet another creak.

And then she’s running. It's as if a switch has been flipped, sprinting down the hallway in long uneven strides that almost cause her to collide with her own bed as she barrels into her room. Tossing the oversized shirt and shorts who knows where. She’s actually thankful for the mandatory uniforms they’re required to wear. It actually saves her time in the morning. While her wardrobe was already limited, she didn’t feel like wasting time trying to choose between her three identical hoodies were so threadbare they could very well fall apart at any given moment.

And none of her teachers particularly cared that she wore leggings beneath her skirt so, it wasn’t all bad. At least she wouldn’t freeze when it snowed-if it snowed. Delaware hadn’t seen any of the white stuff in years.

Horrible, just horrible.

Slipping on her shoes in record time, Moira snatched up her book bag from the far corner as she bolted out of her room, leaping down the stairs exactly how she’d been told not to, time and time again. Ankles absorbing the impact, the muscle stinging. But, Moira merely grins as the sting fades into a dull burn, pushing the sensation to the back of her mind, along with the pain in her side. She doesn’t need to focus on that right now.

The screen door slams shut behind her, but she’s already rounding the corner. Arms and legs pumping hard to propel her down the sidewalk. She looks at her watch.

Ten minutes.

It was time to see if she could beat her record from last year.


	3. The Ashby's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not only Moira's first day of high school. There is another with a heavy burden on their shoulders. Maybe they can help each other out?

Vanessa stared out the window of her father’s car with wide eyes, nerves forming into an even larger ball of excitement laced anxiety with every second that passed.

To say that she was merely excited would be a massive understatement, however. She’d barely slept, thoughts of her first day of high school plaguing her well into the night, but there wasn’t an ounce of fatigue in her body. She didn't have time to be tired. It had been quite the challenge, convincing her father to agree to let her attend this school in the first place, and honestly, he still didn’t look too happy about it.

She paused, pulling her eyes away from the towering buildings passing by her window in favor of picking at her nails. The polish was already chipping, and it had barely been two days. The ride was silent, save for the low murmur of the radio. Playing songs that Vanessa might’ve actually been interested in if her stomach didn’t currently feel like it was full of a family of very angry birds.

The car eased to a stop at an intersection, the strained air between them made her want to scream. But, she can’t apologize for this-she won’t! And yet, she still finds herself peeking at her father’s profile from behind the curtain of her reddish brown hair.

Armand is silent, back straight and both hands gripping the steering wheel tight. Pale eyes hidden behind the lenses of his sunglasses, their frames a cool grey, the very same shade as his suit. With his inky black hair, still slightly wet from the shower, he looked every bit like the fearsome CEO everyone expected him to be.

Armand Ashby, CEO of Syrentull International. A well known pharmaceutical company that specialized in “Alternative supplements for increasing and replenishing a person’s….stamina,” or at least that’s what her father said. Because, he didn’t want to come out and admit that his company specialized in things like Viagra and Cialis, along with a variety of other sex drugs, to his teenage daughter.

As if she didn’t already know what sex was.

Those same drugs were the reason his company had taken off in the first place, and allowed it to grow as quickly as it had. Those profits were the backbone of Syrentull, and still were. They allowed him to invest in all sorts of studies and experimental drugs. From skincare to growing organ replacements for transplants. He kept pushing until he got what he wanted.

Except when he didn’t.

Vanessa pursed her lips as the light turned green and they began moving once again. Glancing at her father once more, she could barely keep from rolling her eyes as he exhaled loudly through his nose for what had to be the twentieth time that morning.

He was pouting.

If she hadn’t seen him like this before, Vanessa would’ve been caught off guard. Her big, bad, CEO of a father, pouting like a child in timeout. And all because she’d picked a different high school then the one he’d wanted her to attend. But, he’d promised to let her choose her own school if she got straight A’s on her last report card.

And here she was.

“Stop pouting.”

Armand snorted, a single dark brow appearing from behind those shades. “I am not pouting.” Even as he denies it, his jaw clenches so hard she can practically hear his teeth calling out for help. “Adults don’t pout.”

“Then what do you call what you’re doing right now?” She fires back, “I don’t get why you’re so mad anyway…” Mumbling the last part under her breath, she turns to stare out of the window once more. The cluster of enormous buildings was starting to fall away, revealing a long winding road that led up to a dense grove of trees. And just beyond the treetops, if she squinted, Vanessa could see the red of the bricks through the foliage.

She’s so close, all she had to do is make it over that hill.

“I’m not mad….” His denial comes out a little harsher than he intended, and he sighs in frustration. Forcing himself to loosen up his hold on the wheel. “I’m just…”

He’s what?

Not even he knows exactly why the mere thought of Vanessa enrolling into Tormelign academy is so upsetting. It’s not as if the school is horrible in any way, far from it in fact. He’d gone there as a child without any problems.

So what was his problem?

“Just what?” Vanessa shifts, crossing her arms even as she tries not to look as desperate as she actually is. Waiting for her father to answer her. The tense atmosphere between the two of them was slowly driving her insane. He was her best friend, and she hated fighting with him. But, both of them were incredibly stubborn and hated apologizing.

If this wasn’t nipped in the bud early on, it could last a very long time.

And with each second that passed, their time was growing shorter and shorter. They’d already pulled into the long driveway that led up to the school. The entrance bustling with activity from parents and students alike.

“I just don’t understand why you picked this school in particular.” Armand glances at her before returning his attention to the road ahead. “Out of all the schools you could have chosen-”

“-What’s wrong with this place!?” Her outburst is unbelievably loud, drowning out the chatter from the radio like thunder. If he hadn’t been driving and forced to keep his eyes on the road, Armand might have whirled around to face her.

But, he couldn’t, not while he was nearing the entrance. Navigating the maze of cars and bodies as they went about their business in the parking lot. Trying to find a space of his own, all he can do is grit his teeth again. “I never said there was anything actually wrong with this school-you’re not listening to me, Vanessa!”

“Because you’re not telling me anything!” Her voice rises in pitch and volume with every word. Eyes wide as he finally manages to find and maneuver the car into an open space. “You’re mad at me, and you haven’t even told me what I’ve done! Or why you don’t want me to go here, even though this is the very school you went to! This is where you met mom, wasn’t it!?”

She’s right of course. Tormelign academy was in fact the school where he met his wife, Juliana. At one of the many rehearsals before the ‘competitions’ that were often held between Tormelign academy and it's sister school located on the opposite side of the city. The two schools loved to have their students compete against each other in just about everything. As if anything was actually gained from it, aside from bragging rights.

And it was at one of those competitions that he first laid eyes on her. She had been one of the students nominated to represent Tormelign in their latest match. 

Ballroom dancing.

Honestly, he hadn’t had any interest in sports or club activities when he was younger. Unless it had to do with cooking. If food wasn’t involved in some way, Armand wasn’t the least bit interested. It was as simple as that.

Until of course, he stumbled into the auditorium one day, during a last minute practice session. 

And there she was, standing off to the side. Watching with eyes like a hawk’s as her instructor addressed the flaws in another student’s routine. She’d been so still that he’d mistaken her for a statue, or some kind of prop at first. Until her name was called, and her head shot up like lightning. Flaming red tendrils tumbling over her shoulder like liquid fire as she moved with all the grace and dignity of a queen.

Suddenly, ballroom dancing was very high on Armand’s list of interests. Too bad he was cursed with two left feet. He could still remember the laughter dancing in her eyes every time he misstepped. And that little snort she would do mid laugh, knocking him to his knees time and time again.

He never stood a chance. She’d taken him out of the game before he’d even had the chance to realize they were playing.

With those memories comes the bitter realization that his wife is no longer with him. The smile frozen on her face as she left him behind. Her blood staining the pristine white sheets as she bled out before his very eyes. All while their daughter was still cradled in her arms, barely an hour old.

He could still remember the pitying stares the doctors and nurses cas in his direction when they thought he wasn’t looking. Offering conciliatory words and advice as they watched him struggled to calm the wailing infant in his arms.

Not that he wasn’t grateful, books could only help him so much. But, a very large part of him was so incredibly bitter that they hadn’t been able to save the life of the woman he loved, that at that time, he hadn’t cared. Even with all of their gloating about being the most technologically advanced hospital on the coast.

It still hadn’t been enough.

The pain burns, but over the years the ache in his chest had slowly been dulling into a low, throbbing sort of pain. One that is more than manageable during his day. And yet, there were still days like this-days where it was hard for him to simply get out of bed and face the throngs of people at the office when all he wanted was to lay in his bed, forever.

But, he couldn’t do that. Time didn’t wait for anyone, and it certainly wasn’t going to make an exception for him.

Armand winced as the pain in his chest flared back to life, growling and snapping like a wild animal was trapped between his ribs. His hand shoots to his chest as a blur speeds by his window, weaving it's way through parked cars and hauls ass toward the school, racing against the bell. 

“....Dad?” Vanessa’s eyes roam over her father’s form, apprehension flooding her pale hazel eyes as she watches him slowly peel his fingers away from his chest. “Is...everything alright?”

She knows things are far from alright, could see it in the way his back straightened in those sculpted seats, brows furrowed hard behind his sunglasses. It’s an expression she’s seen many times before. As hard as her father tried, he was never any good at hiding his feelings. It was almost too easy to see exactly when his thought shifted to her mother. The air around him taking on a more sombre feel.

An expression she’s grown up seeing. And although the sight of him looking so lonely made her feel like a knife was being driven into her own heart, the fact that losing her mother still had such an effect on him years later was….oddly comforting in a way. It let her see that he still loved her-that he hadn’t forgotten about her.

Slouching in his seat, Armand shoved a hand under his shades to rub at his eyes before sighing at the tense atmosphere he’d created. “Look, if I only clear one this up today, let it be this...I am not mad at you in any way.” 

Vanessa blinked, eyebrows shooting up in surprise, “But-”

Armand is quick to shake his head, silencing her as he swiveled in his seat. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with wanting to attend the same school your mother and I did. If anything, it's incredibly flattering, and the pride I feel is….immeasurable.” 

Her jaw snaps shut with a clack. His words washing over her in a comforting wave.

Pride? He was Proud? Of her?

But, he’s not done. Running a hand through his hair, and shifting the once well ordered strands into disarray he rambles on, “But as a parent-as your father, I want to see you surpass me in life. Do all the things I wasn’t able to, accomplish the things I couldn’t!”

The urgency behind his voice is a little off putting, and the thought of surpassing her father in any way doesn’t sit well with Vanessa at all.

“Don’t say things like that….you make it sound like you’re…” She can’t even finish that sentence, let alone the thought that accompanies it. Lose him as well? She didn’t even want to think about the possibility of that happening.

Or the fact that it was entirely inevitable. 

Her eyes begin to sting, the first sign of oncoming tears, and she bolts. Shoves the car door open and stumbles out with nothing more than a rushed goodbye. Struggling to get the words out as she slams the door behind her and takes off towards the main school building. Trying and failing to hold her head up high and ignore the panicked shouts of her name, and the confused stares with it.

She throws herself against the large doors, forcing them open with so quickly that they collide with the walls with a crack that she can feel reverberating through her bones. Even more heads are turning, murmurs sifting through the throngs of students milling about the entry way. All staring at the girl who just came through the doors looking as if she was two seconds away from losing the fight against her tears.

And she nearly does, would have crumpled to the ground in front of everyone if a hand hadon't clamped down onto her arm, grip like iron as they dragged her off to the side with a hiss. “Come here.”

Her legs feel like jelly, barely able to support her own weight. She has no choice but to follow them into the girl's bathroom, vision blurry and unfocused. Vanessa can barely make out their face through the haze of tears when they finally release her. Spinning her around so her back hits the tiled white wall and she sinks to the ground like a wet piece of paper. 

They don't say anything at first, just sort of stand about as Vanessa buries her face in her hands and weeps. Leaning on the opposite wall before their gaze rises to the fluorescent lights above and they sigh, “Well, guess it is nice to see someone is having a worse day than I am.”


	4. Partners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do you ever remember the exact moment that you become friends with someone?

The cafeteria is bustling with students, all going about their own business, immersed in their own little worlds as they slowly make their way through the lunch line. Picking out whatever suits their fancy for lunch today. It's different from the controlled environments of the classrooms. While there are teachers milling about, it feels as if there are no rules in place. Like they’re free, at least for the time being anyway.

Moira merely turns the page in her history book with the heel of her left hand, fingers currently occupied with the cookies wrapped around each digit. With her right, she furiously scribbles down notes for the chapter they’re supposed to be covering tomorrow. While she won’t actually read the thing until later, she at least wants to get the homework done ahead of time.

She has other things to worry about when she gets home, and there’s no guarantee that it will get done if she waits.

Someone flops down into the seat across from her, releasing the most dramatic sigh she’s heard all day. And Moira doesn’t have to look up to know who it is. There’s only one person she knows of who’s that dramatic every day. 

“What happened this time?” She asks, voice low and soothing, but not without the teasing tone she knows will get under her friend’s skin. Coaxing her to slip into the rant she knows has been building up inside of her all day. “Did Mrs. Cirssella not like your paper again?” 

“She took off points because I used a font she didn't like!” Vanessa pouted, slumping forward so she could rest her chin on the long table. “I went from an A to a B, and all because she has no taste! Ugh!” If she were at home, or anywhere else, she might've thrown something. “If she messes up my GPA-”

-”Oh, please,” Finally, Moira glanced up from her notes, pegging her friend with a slightly disappointed look. “You're going to get all A’s just like always. It's disgusting, really.” 

Vanessa smirks, reaching forward to snatch one of the cookies off of Moira’s fingers. Eyeing the thing for a second before shoving the entire thing into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully before a slow smirk spreads across her lips. “You know….I could always offer you my services as a tutor. You’ll get the friendship discount, of course.”

She snorts, flicking the eraser on her pencil at the girl in front of her. It bounces off Vanessa’s nose before clattering onto the table, “Funny how you can sit here and talk about discounts, but you’re eating my food.” 

Vanessa doesn’t move from where she’s spread out on the table, just grins and holds out her hands for yet another cookie, “Come ooon! We’re partners in crime, aren’t we? We have to help each other out!”

Moira’s pencil freezes mid sentence.

_Partners_

The words seem almost natural now, second nature. But when exactly had they become this close? She couldn’t remember what exactly had been the catalyst for their friendship.

But, she did remember when they met. It was the first day of school, and Vanessa had made quite the entrance. So, it wasn’t exactly easy to forget.

~ * ~ *~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * 

“Well, guess it is nice to see that someone’s having a worse day than I am.” The little snort that Moira produces is cruel, but it doesn’t make her words any less true. Seeing someone else crumbling under the weight of their own problems is enough to make her feel like it isn’t just her life that’s gone to shit. 

At least for a moment. 

The other girl doesn’t look up from her spot on the floor, back pressed against the newly cleaned green and white tiles. She’s curled in on herself, face mashed up against her knees while her arms are wrapped around her legs. That curtain of reddish brown hair settling around her form as if it could almost hide her from the prying eyes of the world.

Moira frowns, heel tapping against the wall as her eyes roam around the bathroom. Searching for something to keep her attention while she waits for the girl to stop crying. Once her muffled sobs finally calmed down, she’d probably be able to explain what had gotten into her. Or what had happened in the first place.

With that thought comes the million dollar question. 

Why did she care? What did this girl’s tears have to do with her?

Nothing, nothing at all.

The only reason she’d pulled her in her was to keep her from causing the scene right there in the main entrance. Bawling her eyes out while being surrounded by students and teachers alike. One-half nosy and unable to turn away, while the other would simply bombard her with questions before she’d even had a chance to catch her breath.

But, they were in a bathroom, with no one else in sight. And if no one had come barging in by now then they probably never would. So, she should be left alone, at least for a little while. Everyone was probably too focused on finding their homerooms and getting to know their teachers.

Besides, just standing there while she cried was starting to make Moira feel….anxious. Like she should be doing something other than just standing around, watching.

She didn’t like it, not one bit. 

“Make sure you splash some cold water on your face,” Moira mumbled, scooping up her book bag by its one working strap and turned toward the door. Intent on finding her way to her own classroom. “...You know...for the puffiness…”

“W-Wait!” Her voice is wobbly, still thick from crying, but she’s on her feet by the time Moira turns back around. Face blotchy and cheeks still wet with tears that only smear when she wipes at them with the back of her hand. “I….” She pauses, sniffs again before glancing down and brushing away imaginary dust on her skirt. “I just wanted….to thank you for-”

-“You’re welcome.” It's more of an automated response than anything. The words spilling forth regardless of the fact that Moira is sure that she hasn’t done anything worth her thanks. “Do you….feel better now?”

She nods, gaze slowly rising from the ground, “Yeah...I’m sorry you had to see that.” Embarrassed, she shuffles over to the sink and turns on the faucet. Splashing cool water all over her face, scrubbing at the flushed skin as if she could somehow wash the redness away as easily as she could her tears.

Moira merely shrugs, reaching for the bathroom door once more, “It's fine.” The handle is cool against her palms as she pulls it back, breaking the seal that separated them from the main entrance. More students were arriving, the day even closer to officially beginning.

She still hadn’t found her homeroom. 

How was she supposed to find out to begin with?

Frowning once again, Moira scans the lobby until her eyes fall on a group of kids against the far wall, all clamoring to get a look at what appeared to be a handful of papers pinned to a corkboard.

_Might as well give it a try._

She pushes her way through the crowd, ignoring the dirty looks sent her way as she makes her way to the front. The papers are actually lists of names. Each followed by a number, and it takes her a moment to find her own, as they’re only grouped together by year. But, eventually, the familiar letters catch her eye. 

Moira Cruz, room 247.

“Room two hundred and forty seven…. Two hundred and forty-seven.”

She repeats the number in her head over and over again, just to make sure that she doesn’t forget. Climbing the stairs to the second floor only to be swept up in the crowd of people who are all searching for their own way. All around her age and all dressed exactly the same.

This is the first school she’d attended that actually required her to wear a uniform. And seeing everyone dressed in the same green and white colors is actually a little jarring at first. Though, some have taken it upon themselves to add a little personality to theirs. Pins, sweaters, patches, and even a brightly colored pair of sneakers or two make an appearance in the stairwell.

Luckily, it seemed that a number of them were heading in the same direction. To the room at the very end of the hall on the east wing. Near the pair of tall and meticulously cleaned windows that were just begging for a huge, greasy hand print to be slapped right into the middle. 

That was where she found room 247. 

Which could only mean that the man standing just to the right of the door, clad in an orange sweater vest and a pair of khakis was her teacher. A middle aged man who had eyebrows so bushy that they looked more like a pair of caterpillars napping on his forehead. His short salt n’ pepper hair was neatly combed, and he stood with his massive hands folded together over his stomach as he greeted everyone that entered his class. Dark eyes sparkling beneath the forest his brows created. Even managing to look slightly offended at the few who refused to return his greeting.

There wasn’t much that stood out about the classroom, honestly. Aside from the brand new desks and the lack of brightly colored posters on the walls. Instead, there were holographic screens, their dim glow reflecting softly off the pale colored walls. Projecting two simple lines of information without fail. 

_I have only two rules:_   
1\. Be respectful of your fellow students.  
2\. If you are going to eat in my classroom, throw away your trash.

One by one the children claim their seats after reading the automated message, trying to act as if they weren’t subtly checking out their neighbors. Trying to figure out whether or not they’ll be annoyed with them by the end of the day.

She picks a seat in the middle, on the far right side, against the wall. Flops down into the seat with a grunt as she slides her book bag under her with her foot. Unlike the blonde in front of her, she’s at least a little more discreet when she scans her surroundings. So far, no one has claimed the seat behind her or the one to her left. But, that doesn’t put a damper on the noise level. Already there’s a low murmur floating around the room.

They’re anxious and excited.

Moira is just tired and sore.

Slowly, she allows herself to slump down into her seat and closes her eyes. Pulling her knees up and bracing them against the lip of the desk, she falls into a fitful sleep. Determined to at least catch a few more minutes of sleep before school begins for the day. 

WHAM!

The bang is so loud that Moira can feel the impact rattling in her teeth, and she’s on her feet in an instant. Eyes wide and heart pounding in her chest. Staring at the slivers of light that shine through her door from the hallway. Footsteps, heavy and hurried on the wooden steps echo in her ears. She knows that sound, dreads hearing it nearly every night as she lays awake in bed.

He’s home….He’s home and he’s angry again and-

Her room begins to bleed right before her eyes, sliding down on itself like wet paint. Replaced with the sight of polished desks, notebooks, and an entire classroom’s worth of eyes all on her. Even those bushy eyebrows had shot up at her sudden movement.

She shudders, eyes darting around the room as Moira attempts to take a step backward, stumbles, only to be caught by the firm grip of a hand on her upper arm. A grip that makes her skin crawl and bile rise up in her throat.

But, the voice in her ear isn’t Frank’s. Not even close.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * 

“Hey! Are you listening to me?” Vanessa’s voice cuts through the memory like a knife, thrusting Moira back into the present in the blink of an eye. She’s eyeing her from where her chin is still planted on the table, one hand poking the eraser back and forth along the smooth surface. “Are you even awake right now?”

Moira blinks before shaking her head to clear away the any remnants of the memory before answering, “No to both of those questions.” Stares at the cookies still in her hands, but suddenly she’s lost her appetite.

Everything is right where she’d left it, the cafeteria bustling with hungry just like always.

Vanessa eases herself up in her seat, putting most of her weight onto her elbows as she leans forward. Pushing her way into Moira’s personal space. “I asked if you were coming over tonight after practice...But, it looks like I should be asking if you’re alright.”

“I’m fine.” She pushes the girl’s face away before shoving a handful of her dark hair out of her face with the same hand, “And I’m always over your house. You sure your dad’s not tired of seeing my face yet?”

Vanessa laughed, the sound light and airy, catching Moira off guard. “Please, he’d probably get suspicious if you didn’t come over.” Just as quickly she’s leaning in again, whispering even though there’s no way their conversation could be heard over the hustle and bustle of the cafeteria. “He’s just happy that I made a friend.”

“Someone had to do it,” Moira retorts quickly, “And it's a sacrifice I’m willing to make if it means he’ll keep feeding me.”

Vanessa reels back, scoffing in mock anger as she tosses the eraser back across the table. “So that’s all I am to you? A free meal ticket?”

“Do you really want me to answer that question?” Moira’s smile is easy, the last vestiges of the memory fading into the recesses of her mind as the bell rings and she sets about gathering her things. Yes, she would be going to Vanessa’s house after school. She ALWAYS went to Vanessa’s house after school.

Because she wanted to spend as little time at home as possible.


	5. The First Layer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start moving a little faster than expected

Thunder rumbles outside the gymnasium, a chorus of deafening booms that consume all sound for a moment. Followed closely behind by a few flashes of lightning. The storm’s intensity had increased tenfold from the slight drizzle that had been hanging around that morning. Dark, heavy clouds swooping in out of nowhere. Flood warnings had been sent out by lunch.

But, inside the gym, there’s no time to pay attention to the howling winds, or the heavy rain drops that hurl themselves against the glass windows. These students only have eyes for the enemy in front of them, poised to strike at a moment’s notice.

And a moment is all Vanessa needs, lunging in the split second between the thunder and lightning. Foil glinting in the flash and she catches her opponent just below the breast. They jerk backward half a second too late, a growl of frustration rising up from within their mask as the blow registers.

“Kingsley, what did I tell you?” The deep baritone that fills the gym might have been mistaken for thunder itself if they weren’t already used to the boom of the man’s voice. Their coach paces back and forth outside the box, arms crossed and frown encasing his face. “Watch your left side, it's your weak point. I know it, you know it, and she certainly knows it! Keep your guard up this time!”

Kingsley growls again, low and frustrated as he adjusts his mask for what has to be the hundredth time. Strands of blonde hair sticking to his face. “I know!” He’s been told the same thing over and over so many times that he can still hear the words rattling around in his brain while he sleeps.

But, his left side has always been his weak spot, and he can’t seem to properly defend the thing no matter how hard he tries.

“Then act like it.” Coach Bronson rolls his shoulders, the audible crack still earns a few flinches from the students who aren’t engaged in their own matches. “And Ashby, what did I tell you about attacking relentlessly? One of these days it's going to be your downfall!” 

“Yes, coach.” Vanessa doesn’t move from her spot, eyes forward and weapon at the ready. Though she answers him, it would be laughably obvious if he knew her a little more, that the girl had almost no intention of taking his advice to heart. She’s like a shark who’s just gotten a whiff of fresh blood in the water.

Ravenous.

Lightning flashes once more as the two fencers prepare for a second bout, adrenaline pumping through their veins to the tune of the rain. But, Moura is only half paying attention to the commotion below. Stretched out on her back on the unforgiving metal bleachers, she thumbs bored through the sparse selection of games on Vanessa’s phone. 

For once she actually has a reason to be milling about after school. The storm had forced all of the other teams inside, and as large as the gym was, it couldn’t hold them all. And that was before it really started to come down. One by one their coaches let them leave early as the weather continued to decline. First was the soccer team, the field hockey, and track, until all that remained was stubborn old coach Bronson. Who refused to cancel practice for anything less than a national emergency.

They were inside, and as far as he was concerned, that was more than enough. 

But even he had to acknowledge the severity of the weather when the building shifted in the wind. Groaning beneath the force of the wind and rain. Windows rattling endlessly. The place sounded like it could tip over at any minute, and not even coach Bronson wanted to deal with the vice principal’s nagging or the swarm of angry parents that would set their sight on him if someone ended up getting hurt. And begrudgingly ended practice an hour or two after it had begun. 

Not that any of the students were complaining. Taking their time putting away their equipment and gathering their things. Each gust of wind only serving to increase the apprehension building in their stomachs. Sure, the practice had ended early, but they still had to brave the storm on the way to their parent’s cars, or the late buses, or worse, walk home in this weather. Moira was one of the latter. And there didn’t seem to be any signs of the storm weakening in anytime soon.

“You’re still here?”

Moira doesn’t move from her spot on the bleachers, eyes closed and hands resting on her stomach along with the borrowed device. Vanessa’s bright orange headphones contrasting greatly with the green and white of their uniforms. But, Vanessa loved to stand out, and those flashy orange headphones were certainly right up her alley.

But, she doesn’t take well to being ignored, is used to having the full attention of those around her at all times. So, when Moira remains unaffected by her presence, she resorts to the only thing that someone in her position possibly could. 

Nudges the sleeping girl with her foot until a single russet colored eye slides open to glare at her. “How long are you going to just lay there and ignore me?” she asks, voice high and whiny. More like a child’s than the 14-year-old girl she was always so proud to tell everyone that she was. 

“Not long apparently.” Moira sighs as she swings her legs around, hauling herself up into a sitting position on the metal bench. “You barely lasted a minute before you had to resort to attacking me.”

“I wasn’t attacking you!” Vanessa screeches. Her voice echoes throughout the gymnasium, along with her laughter as she playfully shoves her friend. “If i was going to attack you, you would know it!”

Moira snorted in response, “If it's going to be a sneak attack, make sure you don’t block the light next time, too.” That little remark earned her another smack on the shoulder, but she brushes it off without batting an eyelash. Smirking, she gets to her feet and makes her way down the bleachers. “What are you doing done so early? Isn’t it kind of early?”

She doesn’t know why she felt the need to ask such an obvious question, but the words are already past her lips when Moira realizes that they weren’t at all necessary. 

But, Vanessa doesn’t seem to notice. Either that or she isn’t bothered by it as she descends the now abandoned bleachers to join Moira at the bottom. 

“There’s a hurricane blowing through the city?” she replied, snatching her backpack and duffel from where they lay on the ground. “There shouldn’t have been practice to begin with, but you know how much coach hates it when we waste time.” Vanessa doesn’t try to hide her distaste, casting a glare in the direction of the man’s office.

Moira frowns, cocking her head to the left as she begins scrolling through Vanessa’s music library. There are only a few songs that she actually likes. “Must not have been that bad of a hurricane if they didn’t cancel school from the get go….right?”

Vanessa shrugs, flicking a lock of her red brown hair over her shoulder, “Who knows.” She veers to the right, leading them out of the gym. The usually busy hallways now are now strangely barren. The weather and the promise of the weekend causing just about every student to hurry out of the building as soon as possible. Except for the few remaining teachers handling some last minute business in their classrooms.

At least the power remained on.

They travel up the flight of stairs at the end of the hall, taking the steps two at a time before pushing through the double doors at the top. 

Moira heads to the left while Vanessa continues straight, their lockers on opposite sides of the hall. “How long do you think it will last?”

The other girl shrugs before realizing that Moira isn’t looking at her and makes a noncommittal sound before entering her locker combination. “Couldn’t tell you. Because a certain someone still has my phone. Which has a perfectly functional weather app, might I add.” 

That little bit of sass isn’t lost on Moira, the girl frowning as she shoves more books into her backpack, filling the thing to the brim before turning to grab her umbrella as well. “Oh, so now I have your permission to go through your phone and mess with all your precious apps? Usually, you have me restricted to just the games and music….” She pauses, an idea slipping into her head. “Or is there something you don’t want me to see?”

“Don’t make me hurt you.”

Vanessa’s warning falls on deaf ears, and Moira laughs. The echo alarmingly loud in the empty hallway. Even her threats sound pouty, but she drops the subject where it lies.

Vanessa was an unbearable whiner whenever she was upset.

The sky was dark when they finally caught a glimpse of it through the large windows on the main doors. Dark enough to be mistaken for night even though it was only twenty past five. The clouds hanging full and low, heavy with rain. Rain that was hurtling down to earth with no regard to anything that was in it's way. Whether it be pavement, glass, or the random dog down the street that needed to go outside for a bathroom break.

In short, it didn’t look fun.

“Ready?” the shorter girl asks as she drops her bag in order to pull on her jacket before lifting her umbrella once more. The thing is small, black with little oranges repeating all over it. It was a good umbrella, but too small to cover the both of them. But, that didn’t mean they weren’t going to try. “Think you can make it to your dad’s car without being swept away by the wind? I won’t be able to save you if that happens.”

Even as the image brings a smile to her face, Moira knows she doesn’t actually want something like that to happen. She really didn’t think she’d be able to save her.

Vanessa sighs dramatically as she pulls on her own coat, “If I can’t even count on you to save me from nature, what good are you?”

Her lips twitch at that question. It's one she’s very used to hearing, but she still doesn’t actually have a good answer to it even now. A part of her feels that she never will. But, Moira simply shrugs and allows an unapologetic smile to erase any traces of apprehension that might’ve taken up residence on her face, “None whatsoever.” 

Their exit isn’t graceful, nor is it the most well-coordinated thing they’ve ever done, but they can be thankful that there’s only one person in the area to witness their sad attempt. Armand, Vanessa’s father waits in his car as usual. The stylish black sedan parked as close to the entrance as possible without breaking any laws, headlights blaring bright against the ever imposing darkness.

The rain stings as it hits their flesh, pelting the two as if it has a personal vendetta against them. The umbrella helps, but even that can only do so much when the wind changes direction without a moment’s notice. And the rain changes with it.

Moira can’t remember another time where she’s seen the rain fall sideways before.

The doors are unlocked, unsurprisingly, and they tumble inside. A tangle of wet limbs and soggy books. The wind nearly snatches the umbrella out of Moira’s hands before she can fold it up and pull the door shut with a slam. Even inside, the howling of the wind is almost loud enough to drown out the weather update playing on the radio.

And Armand had been so proud of how much outside noise was supposed to be muffled by the cabin of his car. Apparently, they hadn’t tested how well the thing could filter out winds like these.

He’s already staring at them when they finally right themselves in the back seat, weighing whether or not he should poke fun at how the two girls look like a pair of drowned cats and they’d only traveled a yard from the school’s entrance. In the end, he decides against it, merely raising an eyebrow at their waterlogged look. “You two alright?”

Moira nods, and Vanessa grumbles something about her gross the feeling of wet clothes is as she squirms her way out of her backpack so she can put her seatbelt on. 

Armand nods as he turns around in his seat, and the slowly eases the car forward. “Ok, Moira, let’s get you home then.” The constant swish of the windshield wipers would’ve been distracting if they didn’t need them to see more than two inches in front of them. Even with headlights blaring, their only saving grace is the bright yellow strip dividing the road in two.

Vanessa scrunches up her nose as she leans forward, forcing her way between the two front seats to fiddle with the controls on the dash, “Ugh, I’m freezing.” She turns the heat up before slinking backward. “This sucks!”

“You’re certainly right about that…” mumbles Armand. They’re creeping along at a snail’s pace, maneuvering their way around fallen branches and debris that’s been blown into the street. The road is abandoned otherwise, everyone else seeking shelter within their homes until the storm blows over.

Something they should’ve been doing, right about now. Just like the man on the radio urges them to every few minutes. 

Moira shifts in her seat as they coast around yet another mailbox, turning her attention to the world outside her window. The tinted glass makes everything seem even darker, the only light being the occasional flashes of lightning that illuminates the sky. 

The sudden stop of the car leaves her confused for a split second. Eyes darting forward to peer out the front windshield. On her left, Vanessa makes a surprised sound as she lurches forward in her seat.

There, in the middle of the road, are a pair of fallen trees. Their enormous bodies blocking the small road along with some parts of the lawns on either side. They’re fairly recent, going by the massive clumps of dirt that still clung to the web of roots that extended from their bottoms like a mass of hands, eager to draw in anyone who wandered too close.

There’s no getting through.

To their left is a steep, grassy hill, already slick and overflowing with runoff. It would be foolish to even try to go around that way, or else they might end up sliding down to who knows where. The left side is not better, the tree’s full branches pressed up against the side of the house so tightly that only the smallest of animals would be able to squeeze its way through the maze of branches. 

“We can’t get through….” Vanessa finally speaks up, voicing what everyone is thinking. There are other ways to get to where they need to go, other roads. But, none of them are close, and there’s no guarantee that they aren’t blocked as well. She looks at her dad expectantly, hoping that he would somehow come up with a solution. 

Slowly, Moira reaches down between her feet and retrieves her umbrella, “It's not too far from here...I should be able to make it.” She ignores the startled look that Vanessa sends her way, focusing instead on the small space between the two tree trunks.

She might be able to squeeze through there as long as she doesn’t have her backpack on. 

As soon as the words leave her mouth the wind picks up again. Slamming against the car and forcing it back a few inches. She appreciates Armand taking the time to try and drop her off, but things are getting worse by the second, and the trees around them are swaying worse than her father when he’s had a bad day.

Splitting up was the only choice she could see. Their house was closer, and unless something had changed the way back should’ve been clear.

She would just have to get a little wet. It was fine.

Armand disagrees, shifting into reverse before wheeling the car around and heading back the way they came. “No, change of plans.” He disregards her weak assurance that she’ll be fine and makes a hard left. Swinging wide to avoid the car abandoned in the middle of the street, tires flat. “I’m not letting you out there, especially with the weather this bad.”

Vanessa nods in agreement, “Y-Yeah! There are trees being knocked over and everything! What if one falls on you?”

“You can stay with us until the storm passes, alright?” He tears his eyes away from the road to glance at her for a second. “Or at least until it lightens up a bit.” The headlights illuminate the heavy downpour as they make their way through an intersection with no traffic light. The machine laying on the ground and off to the side. No doubt torn loose by the same winds that had downed those trees.

Moira doesn’t answer either of them, clenches her jaw tightly as they travel farther and farther away from her home. Yes, what they’re saying makes sense. Armand’s plan is safer, and there’s no guarantee that she’d be able to avoid a falling tree. But, anxiety is clawing at her gut regardless. Twisting up her insides as the contrast between the warm air and her wet clothes gives birth to goosebumps all over her skin.

Nervously, she twists around to glance at the cheap watch on her wrist. The small digital numbers doing nothing to assuage the war going on in her stomach.

It's 5:45, and she’s supposed to be home by 6:30.

No matter what. 

As they turn off the road and onto the winding driveway that leads up to Vanessa and Armand’s house, it takes all of her strength to keep the bile from forcing it's way up her throat. The garage door begins to slide open, light spilling forth from inside. She’s never broken that rule, nor does she want to think about what the punishment might be.

They pull inside easily, and the with the press of a button on the rear view mirror, the garage door begins to descend again. Slowly blocking out the harsh wind and rain. They were already safer just being inside. But, as the locks on the door release with a click, and Vanessa slips out with a whine about getting something hot to eat, Moira’s only thought is if the door will be high enough for her to slip under in the time it takes for her to hit that little button and run to it.

Would they try and stop her? Was she faster than Armand?

The door beside her is yanked open before she can make up her mind, replaced with Vanessa’s expectant face. Her hair is already starting to dry, curls forming at the ends as she brushes them away for what has to be the hundredth time. “Are...you coming inside, or are you going to spend the night in the car?”

Moira blinks, tries to calm the jackhammering heart in her chest as she nods. Easing her way out of the car and smiling nervously, “.....It is a really cool car.” 

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Vanessa hisses, nose scrunching up again. “He’ll have you down here for hours.”

She isn’t sure how much of that little comment is true, but Moira takes the words to heart as she follows Vanessa through the door that leads into their kitchen. Eyes slowly traveling back to the aluminum door separating her from the storm. 

A part of her still wonders if she can make it home in time, spare herself the angry rant she knows will be waiting for her when she does get home. And another is pushing her forward, urging her to do it anyway, because she has the chance, simply because she knows it will make her father angry.

But, it wouldn’t be smart to knowingly aggravate someone with a temper.

She glances at her watch again, balancing on the balls of her feet for just a second before stepping into the warmth of the kitchen, closing the door behind her. 

6:12.

Not once did she ever say that she was a smart girl.


	6. The Ashby Manor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The storm is worse than they thought, so Vanessa's father graciously allows Moira to stay until things have calmed down a bit. But, not even that goes well

The difference in atmosphere is almost startling, wiping away the sad, dreary cloud that had settled over them during the drive home. At least for two of them.

As the two girls begin to peel off their wet jackets and soaked shoes, Moira’s mind turns to the conversation she’d do almost anything to avoid. Not even the warmth of the heated tiles beneath her chilled toes can ease the ball of nerves twisting in her gut.

But, there’s no escaping it. Either she deals with it now and faces the fallout later, or she avoids the call entirely and suffers through something far worse. And if Frank had been drinking, which was usually how he spent his free time, she honestly didn’t want to think about what she would be going home to once the storm had run it's course.

Unlike them, Armand was noticeably dry, and continued forward into the kitchen. Dropping his keys and briefcase onto the large oval table and immediately went to work on his tie. Pulling the offending material as far away from his neck as possible. “You two get started on your homework and I’ll figure out what we’re going to have for dinner. Any requests?”

“STEW!” Vanessa’s cry is loud, and carries well in the wide open space that is the kitchen. The high ceiling is dotted with built-in lights that cast a warm, comforting glow on the kitchen. Furnished with dark wood and shining steel appliances that somehow are void of any fingerprints or smudges. The table along is gigantic, able to fit at least ten people comfortably.

He chuckles, finally ridding himself of the offending material around his neck, “No surprises there….stew alright with you, Moira?”

Moira shrugs, from where she stands awkwardly in the doorway, still holding onto her bookbag. It takes her a moment to realize that his back is to her and that he can’t see her reaction while digging through the refrigerator, “I...stew is good.”

Something warm in her stomach would certainly be nice. 

“And what kind of stew do you like?”

The question catches her off guard, and she actually has to take time and think. What kind of shew **does** she like?

It's embarrassing to realize that she doesn’t actually know, “uh-”

-Armand’s head pops up from behind the metal door of the fridge, “Oh, you should probably call your parents and let them know you’re ok.” Even as he utters those words, he’s already reaching into his pocket and pulling out a thin device. “You know how to use this, right?”

Vanessa slinks between the two of them and plucks the phone from her father’s hand with a sigh, “Of course she know show, she’s stolen my phone enough times to figure out the passcode.”

“You entered it right in front of me,” Moira counters. “What was I supposed to do , forget it? You do that enough on your own.”

Vanessa bristles even as her fingers fly across the smooth surface of her father’s phone, entering his passcode in the blink of an eye. “I don’t lose my phone that often!”

Moira’s eyebrows shoot up at that, a look of faux surprise bleeding across her face. “Then where is it right now? Because it's not in any of your pockets…”

“Right, because it's in yours?” Vanessa asks, passing the phone to Moira before crossing her arms in a huff. “Don’t think I’ll fall for that trick a second time.”

The second girl shrugs as she turns on her heel and heads out into the hall, phone in hand, “I never said I had it. I just asked where it was~”

“You-” Vanessa catches herself just as Moira leaves, fingers itching to check her pockets, but not wanting to take the chance to prove her right.

But, she really couldn’t lose her phone….again.

Armand watches his daughter fidget from the other side of the kitchen with a bemused smile. It had been a while since the house had been this loud, this lively. It was nice… He rolled an onion around in his palm before focusing on the matter at hand, “Speaking of phones….how do you know the passcode to mine?”

“uh….”Eyes wide, his only child slowly turned to face him, lips twisted into an anxious grin. “Because you told me?”

He tilts his head to the side with a sigh, “You always were a horrible liar.” 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The phone is cool in Moira’s hands by the time she’s finally able to gather enough courage to begin punching in her mother’s cell number. Hoping that she’s awake for once and actually able to answer. She chews on the inside of her cheek as the dial tone blares in her ear.

It's picked up on the fourth ring and her stomach drops before the person on the other line has even finished the word “Hello.”

Frank’s voice is as gruff as always, the tiniest hint of a slur in his speech as he demands to know who he’s talking to.

“I can’t come home today, the storm’s too bad,” Anxiety at an all time high, Moira just launches into her explanation like a rocket. Hoping to get off the phone as soon as possible. “The roads are all blocked. So, I’m gonna stay at Vanessa’s until it passes.”

It takes an agonizingly long time for him to reply, the sound of his breathing the only indicator that Frank was actually still on the line. The anticipation and fear racing through her have her talking way more than she’d like.

“Things were way worse than we initially thought...the wind was pushing the car all over the place-’

“-What car?” It's not so much a question as it is a demand, and no sooner does he speak does Moira realize her mistake.

Her voice is small when she answers, all traces of her bravado from earlier erased. “Her father’s car...Armand-he offered to give me a ride home, but the road was blocked-”

“-So, let me get this straight...You got in the car with a man you don’t even know?” That condescending tone she knows all too well sets her teeth on edge. “Just because it was raining a little?”

“But, it's not just raining a little...It's storming-a hurricane!” The crack in her voice makes her want to scream. The pressure building behind her eyes with every passing second. She can already feel the headache coming on. 

“Are you fucking stupid!?” His voice lashes out through the speaker like a whip, so sudden that Moira isn’t just caught off guard, she’s blindsided. “Do you think we’re spending all this money to send you to that uppity school just so you could remain a clueless idiot?” Frank’s teeth clack together on that final word, the sound loud and harsh. “What the hell is he getting out of helping a useless little rat like you?”

What **was** he getting out of helping her?

No. Moira shakes the thought from her mind as quickly as it appears. Erasing it before it has the chance to root itself into her mind. Armand was a nice person, he didn’t have to let her stay, but he was. And he wasn’t asking for anything in return.

He wasn’t the kind of person Frank thought he was, right? She didn’t exactly have any money to repay him…

“So, what are you feeding him, hmm?” There’s no actual curiosity in her father’s voice, only venom. “People with power never do anything for free. So, what are you giving him you little worm? Exposure? Letting him pose before the cameras so everyone can see how generous he is? Is that it?”

Bile rises in her throat, in her mouth. She can taste it on her tongue. It clings to her teeth in a thin film. She’s heard this bit before, knows exactly what the next words out of his mouth will be. 

But, it's different this time, these are people she actually know, actually cares about! People that she trusts…And yet she doesn’t move-she can’t, she’s frozen. Immobilized by the disgust and animosity in Frank’s voice..

“Or have you taken a page out of your mother’s book and decided to take the easy way out by laying on your back like the little whore you are?” She can practically see his face in her mind’s eye. Cracked and chapped lips pulled tight in a snarl over yellowed teeth.

She wants to vomit, but somehow manages to keep down the contents of her lunch. And yet, frank sees her silence as an admittance of guilt, powering on ahead like an enraged bull. “That’s it isn’t it? You don’t have anything worth his time, so you let him play with your tight little snatch in the front seat-”

Moira wrenches the phone away from her ear with a shout, fingers curled tight around the smooth glass. Even then she can still hear his voice, taunting her.

She just wants him to shut up. To keep his mouth shut for just once in his life. Every time- **Every damn time…**

Her body moves on it's own, blood roaring in her ears as she rears back with the phone still in hand. This time, she would make him shut that mouth of his. Smash the thing to pieces against one of those immaculately decorated walls-

“-Hey, are you still on the phone!?” 

Vanessa’s voice erupts from within the kitchen, snapping Moira out of her rage before she can go through with her plan. Body recoiling as the phone slips from her fingers to clatter against the smooth wooden floor.

For a second all she can do is stare numbly at the device as if it were going to grow legs of it's own and get up off the ground. But, it doesn’t, and it's still in the same spot when Vanessa finally decides to come check up on her.

Her pale hazel eyes flicker between Moira and the device on the ground. Taking in the look of frustration etched onto her friend’s face. Something was wrong, she could feel it, taste it in the tension in the air. But, she can’t put her finger on the exact emotion. She’s only seen Moira like this a handful of times, and it's not something that gets easier with time.

“Did you break it?” She asks, motioning to the sleep device on the floor when Moira starts at the sound of her voice, moving slowly as if she’s just come out of a dream. “You’re as bad as my dad. He goes through at least three phones a year…”

The joke is lame and they both know it. A sad attempt at clearing the air, but it's the best Vanessa can manage to try and lift the mood.

A second passes, then another before Moira finally snorts, lips curling into a half hearted smile as she bends over and retrieves the discarded device. Head throbbing all the while. “He should take better care of his phones, then.”

They’re skirting around the subject like professionals, and yet neither one of them wants to face the real issue. So, they’re thankful for the interruption that Armand provides when he calls them back into the kitchen. Fake smiles plastered across their faces.

But, behind his back, Vanessa’s gaze is hard, no room for negotiation

_You’re going to tell me what happened, or I’m going to find out on my own. And you won’t like it if I have to dig this up myself._


	7. The Second Layer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The storm rages outside and the semi-peaceful night is cut short when Vanessa finds out more than she's supposed to.

“So, change of plans. We’re going to have something a little different.” Armand smiles as he rolls up his sleeves, eyes darting between the two girls as they sit down at the table. It doesn’t take him long to realize the sudden shift in the mood. Vanessa’s rapid tapping of her fingertips against the smooth surface as she stares intently at the floor. “Something wrong?”

Moira answers first, blinking slowly as she eyes the ingredients on the table, “No..why?” Her gaze is measured and steady, unlike that of the girl sitting on the other side of the table. Undeniably calm, perhaps a little too much so. “I called them, they’re fine with it.”

He pauses, tempted to push a little further. Obviously, things hadn’t gone as smoothly as she’d hoped. But, it wasn’t his place to pry, and yet he finds the words dancing on his tongue regardless. So close to slipping through his lips. “...Are you-”

“-These don’t look like the ingredients for stew.” Surprisingly enough, it's Vanessa who cuts in, eyeing the block of cheese with distaste.

Armand’s reply is just as quick, “Because we’re not having stew.”

The look of betrayal that spreads across Vanessa’s face is more comical than upsetting. A loud, dramatic moan forcing it's way past her lips, “I was promised stew and you do this to me? In my own home?” She casts a glare in Moira’s direction when the other girl snorts.

Armand merely sighs, “It's our house, actually. And you still have plenty of stew left over from the last time.” He motions toward the refrigerator with the back of his hand. “Besides, don’t you think it would be nice to try something new?”

“You know how I feel about cheese…” She scoffs, turning her nose up at the block that sits just out of reach.

Moira is quick to cut in, “You love it, because it's amazing and can only make food better.” 

Vanessa’s answering glare does nothing to cause the grin on her lips to falter. But, the tension in the room bleeds away with every second that passes. Bringing back the lighthearted aura that had engulfed the kitchen beforehand.

She grumbles something under her breath, arms crossed as she frowns. Gaze traveling from the assortment of ingredients on the table over to her father before releasing yet another over exaggerated groan. “Fine. What is this new recipe you just have to try out?”

Armand smirks as he pulls a singular ingredient from the pile and holds it up in his palm. “French onion soup.”

“No.” This time it's Moira who utters the word under her breath. Eyebrows shooting up as her eyes fell upon the item in question. “How is soup made from onions supposed to be good?”

“What’s wrong?” Vanessa croons lowly. “Not a fan of onions?”

Moira is quick to shut her mouth, biting her tongue to keep her mouth from getting her in trouble. She was sure Armand wouldn’t appreciate her telling Vanessa to go choke on an onion.

But, regardless of the soup’s main ingredient, the thing tastes extraordinary. And coupled with the melted cheese oozed over the top and perfectly crisped bread, she’d have no reservations about eating Vanessa’s share if she wanted to complain about it.

Unfortunately, Vanessa doesn’t make as big a fuss as she’d predicted. Slurping down the warm liquid with little complaint. And chasing it with hefty amounts of bread, as if that alone would wash the remnants of the offending cheese from her mouth. While she doesn’t complain, Vanessa isn’t reaching for seconds either.

Unlike Moira, who has already moved on to her second bowl by the time Vanessa finally finishes off her first.

The warmth hits her directly in the chest, settling just beneath her lungs before spreading outwards to the rest of her body. Her shoulders and arms, even her stomach is soon swimming in a warmth that has her head hanging low and eyelids drooping before long. The combination of a full stomach and the excitement from earlier had apparently drained her more than she’d known. It was becoming harder and harder to stay awake with each passing second.

“Thanks for the soup, dad.” Vanessa’s chair scrapes against the hardwood as she stands, making her way over to the sink with bowl in hand. “We’re going to head upstairs for a bit.” She jerks her chin in Moira’s direction, the girl barely stifling a yawn. “You don’t need her knocked out on your table while you’re cooking up a storm down here.”

Armand pauses, hands buried in the soapy water next to her, surprised. “You don’t want anything else?”

“She’s had like three bowls of soup and can barely keep her eyes open-”

Moira frowns as she glances at the two behind her, “I’m not falling asleep!” There’s a pause as she blinks hard, trying to clear her fuzzy vision. “And what kind of dessert are you making...exactly?” Despite the stuffed gut she’s nursing, her greed is more powerful than her common sense.

There’s always room for dessert, right?

Vanessa groans, throwing her hands up dramatically as an all too familiar sparkle returns to her father’s eyes. If there was one thing she knew about her father, aside from work, cooking was his favorite past time. A way for him to relax and work off all the stress that piled on his shoulders day after day.

And he was good at it. Cultivating the skill over years of practice and experimentation. Testing recipes and ingredients in different situations. I was one of the few things he truly enjoyed and was able to practice continually while raising a child and running a company at the same time.

Plus, whoever complained about a well-cooked meal?

So, it stands to reason that he’s excited whenever he gets the chance to show off his cooking skills.

“Just a cheesecake,” Armand replies. “Hope you weren’t expecting anything too fancy. Plus, I don’t want it to go bad in case the power goes out.”

_Cheesecake isn’t fancy?_ Moira’s eyes travel from Armand to the fridge expectantly. As if the dessert was going to magically appear in his hand. “I’ll take some cake if you’re offering…”

Vanessa frowns, crossing her arms, “You don’t need to encourage him, you know…”

“Ok.” There’s a pause as Moira rolls the idea around in her head. Weighing the amount of food in her stomach against how much more she could possibly fill the creamy dessert.

And she’s about to risk it all when Vanessa rushes forward, hands coming to rest on her shoulders. Pulling her up from the chair with a quick jerk of her arm. “You can eat more later, come on!” 

Despite the harsh weather and potential consequences of the raging winds and torrential rain outside, the brunette’s spirits have been slowly getting better ever since they returned to the kitchen.

“H-Hey!” Moira’s shout falls on deaf ears as she’s practically dragged out of the kitchen and into the small hallway that leads up to the stairway. “What the hell?!”

The look Vanessa sends her way in response is almost enough for Moira to want to retract those words.

Almost.

“Are you really going to sit there all night and just eat?” She asks, impatiently. Her fingers curl around the strands of her auburn hair. Raking through it as if her own hair could save her from the slowly building irritation within her.

“Not all night, but I was going to grab some cheesecake,” the second girl mumbles. “What’s wrong with that?”

Vanessa purses her lips, chin raised and defiant. That’s a question she’d rather not answer at the moment. The truth is far too embarrassing for her to admit.

She couldn’t just come out and say that she was jealous of her own father, of how her best friend seemed more interested in spending time with him than her. Devouring everything that was put in front of her. Even if this was the first time she’d actually had a friend over for the night. 

Instead, she snorts, moving around Moira to make her way up the stairs. “Nothing’s wrong. I just didn’t know I’d have to keep you from eating yourself to death. My dad might not appreciate your enthusiasm, but I’m sure he won’t want your death on his hands.”

“You act like dying from eating too much good food is a bad thing,” Moira replies lowly. Didn’t really seem like a bad thing to her. It wasn’t as if she got to eat like this all the time. Even with her stomach full to bursting, Moira still considers returning to the kitchen for a minute before turning around and grabbing her backpack from where she’d dumped it beside the door.

She could always come back for cake later.

Her sneakers squeak on the hardwood as she makes her own way upstairs, the sound barely drowned out by the rain pelting the side of the house. At the top of the stairs, she turns left, dropping her bag into one of the guest rooms before following the sound of a gv to Vanessa’s room.

She’s seated on the edge of the bed, eyes glued to the giant holo screen mounted on the opposite wall. Channels flicking rapidly as her finger slams down on the remote at a mile a minute. No matter what channel flashes across the screen, the message is the same.

Coverage of the storm, flood warnings, and instructions to stay inside repeating like a mantra. Clips of downed trees and blocked roads hammering home the message even further.

“....This thing is getting pretty bad…” For the first time today, worry begins to bleed into her expression. Pinched lips and furrowed brows framing her face. This is the first time she’s encountered a storm of this magnitude, and as much as she hates to admit it, she’s starting to get worried.

Moira pauses, eyes immediately shifting to the tv and the unlucky reporter forced to endure the 50 mph winds. It is bad, there’s no arguing with that. But, agonizing over it won’t change anything. All they can do now is wait it out.

So she does what she does best, changes the subject. Snatching the remote from Vanessa and flipping through the channels with an objective in mind. And after a few minutes, her search is rewarded with a blood-curdling scream and a splash of crimson across the screen.

Vanessa jumps at the sudden switch in tone, a grotesque abomination of a creature lurching onto the screen. Much to the horror of who they can only assume to be the main character of the movie. “Oh god, what is that?! Why does it have to have so many eyes?!”

Moira cackles, more pleased with Vanessa’s reaction than the fact that she’d actually managed to find a channel free of hurricane updates. “What’re you so surprised for? Isn’t watching scary movies a mandatory part of sleepovers?”

“This isn’t exactly a sleepover…” Vanessa mumbles, chewing on her lower lip as she all but refuses to look at the screen again. Focusing instead on the girl who’s best friend status she’s currently considering revoking. “It's more of an emergency situation.”

And Moira agrees, plopping down into the plush armchair seated in the corner of the room. “But, technically I am sleeping over, at your house.” She smiles easily, cool and controlled, but not lacking in confidence.

Vanessa hates that smirk with a passion. Whenever she sees it, things never work out well. Mostly because it's always aimed at her, and she never has any way to combat the thing. 

And this time is no different. There isn’t much else to watch aside from the news, and as much as she hates it, Moira technically is correct. This was a sleepover in the barest sense.

Vanessa shuffles backward on her bed with a huff, clutching a pillow to her chest once her back meets the headboard. “Fine, but if this thing gives me nightmares, you’re going to stay awake with me the whole time!”

“Whatever you need, princess.”

Sometimes, she really wondered how the two of them had become friends.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

A resounding crash tears through the night. Impact so loud that Moira can still feel the shuddering impact reverberating through her gut long after she’s been dragged from the world of dreams wide-eyed and shaking.

The room is encased in darkness, eerily silent save for the howling winds outside. Branches scraping against the sides of the house with jerky, unpracticed motions. But, none of that bothers her much like the feeling of unease that settles in her chest as time flows on.

Slowly, she uncurls herself from within the chair, stretching the previously folded limbs before pulling herself back onto her feet. All is quiet when she makes her way out into the hallway, but it doesn’t ease her anxiety at all. Something is wrong, but she can’t quite put her finger on it.

She feels like an intruder, out of place and unwelcome as she wanders around the darkened house. There are no clocks or interfaces lit up from what she can see. _The power must’ve gone out…_

She’s in the living room when the first flash of light catches her eye, no longer knowing what she’s looking for in her wanderings. It’s faint, more like a soft glow bleeding out from the kitchen, accompanied by hushed voices. One partially muffled and the other backed by electronic quality.

Is someone on the phone? Only one voice is speaking when she reaches the doorway, angry and condescending. It makes the hair on the back of her neck shoot to attention as soon as her brain registers the voice. Body going rigid upon instinct.

_[“Or have you taken a page out of your mother’s book and decided to take the easy way out by laying on your back like the little whore you are?”]_

Standing at the kitchen table is Vanessa, face hollow and bathed in haunting blue light. Her expression is hard to recognize, a mixture of surprise and disbelief as the venom filled words wash over her like a tidal wave of hate. Armand’s phone laying untouched on the table.

Eventually, the call ends, the recording fading away as the phone’s screen goes dark. Encasing the two in silence and darkness once more.

A heartbeat passes, then another, the silence becoming more and more oppressive with each passing moment.

Moira is the one who breaks it, throat dry and voice nothing more than a raspy mess, “Delete it.” She wasn’t even aware that she was shaking until she bites her tongue mid-sentence. The taste of copper filling her mouth. “Get rid of it right now.” Hysteria is creeping up her throat, threatening to swallow her whole.

Vanessa doesn’t answer right away, form remaining so still that it's almost impossible to pick her out from the surrounding darkness. When she does answer, an eternity seems to have passed, and her voice is disturbingly controlled.

“No.”


End file.
